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After a tough winter trudging south you eventually reach the lands assigned to you by the emperor, a mile square. Half of it is a boggy marsh inhabited by the Mothers-know-what and the rest is scrub land that at best looks infertile. The scouts (the Darjiini Mud Walkers) have found that the whole western perimeter of the grant is swamp. A few small streams run into this and one large one which at its widest point is nearly 30m wide. There are many large uncultivated reed beds along most of the water edges.
The land is flat and treeless for the most part but away to the west can be seen some large woods. They are probably 2 or 3 days ride away though. In the southeast the land begins to rise as it climbs up to become the Stormwalk Mountains and the land starts showing rocky out-crops. Some of these are large enough to build dwellings on.
Even on the 'dry' land it seems unlikely a large fire could take hold, everything here seems to have damp in it.
By the time they get back, having been called in to the main group, the main impression they get is that it will require much work to build anything including a life here.
The route to the grant took you down the eastern edge of the marsh and so through the lands of the Marshedge clan and onto territory owned by the Poss clan. There are a few small human towns and villages with a day or so, and off to the west there are many villages of durulz although the inhabitants steer well clear of such a large number of obviously Lunar humans.
The local Orlanthi stayed away from your caravan, in the time it would take to raise the clan warriors to challenge such a large number of soldiers you had all passed through the clan lands and no longer presented a threat. At the few steads you came across the inhabitants offered no threat and mostly seemed to want to avoid confrontation, paying you in sheep and cattle to get you to move on.
Dark season and Storm season took their toll and now there are barely 100 of you to manage this land.
Porta looks all around him and takes in the sights of the dismal marsh stretched out in front of them. He sighs and removes his helmet, scratching his flea-ridden mop of unruly red hair. He hasn't had a proper bath since leaving Bostok. Still, it is better to be here and alive, rather than roasting on a Pentan spit1
He calmly listens to the bickering of the prospective new leaders. It matters not much to him who gets elected - he will ignore most commands anyway, as is his wont. And out here in the marsh? Anyone giving him an order better have the strength or power to back it up with.
He turns to Argentus, his mule, ladened down with provisions and sundry items. Picking a fresh loaf of bread and some Imtherian cheese, he makes a sandwich and waits to see how events unfold.
Ash pauses from looking around at the desolation. There is faint suggestion of a smile at the corner of his mouth, it is a crooked smile as if he finds the entire situation to be somehow amusing. Looking around at the arguing factions from his position of deathly isolation, with only his woman by his side, he spits, investing the action with enormous eloquence and meaning.
He wanders over to Varonil..
"Hey Varonil,", he says cheerily, slapping the idealistic young Yanafali on the back. He has managed to lace a mere two words with entire worlds of scepticism.
"What do you think of this shithole?.."
Ash wanders into the centre of the argument, drawing his blade.
"Everyone shut the fuck up!" he bellows, his face grim enough to cause fear in the staunchest heart.
Oheha, on the outskirts of the group as usual, watches with interest and a little surprise. The big Carmanian is certainly effective at making people listen to him.
In the shocked silence that follows..
"Now, that's better." he glares at a few recalcitrant types, his eyes promising bloody murder.
"What we're going to do is this. We're going select a council, the best farmer, the best trader, the best warrior, the best fisherman, the best herder, the best healer and a lawkeeper. Anyone think of any other position save it till I'm finished."
"Once we've done that then the council, and only the council, will sit down and decide on a leader."
"I won't be on the council, I've got better things to do with my time than yap along with you lot. Besides if I were on the council I'd end up killing someone."
And he seems to know his limitations... She can sympathise with the first point, if not the second. Being on a council would mean being tied down. Responsibility. Stability. No, she wants none of that.
"Alright then, 7 positions," he pauses apparently to consider the significance of the number, "whose up for them?"
"Varonil get your ass over here and test these asswipes for truthfulness, cause they're gonna pledge to work in our best interests.."
Ash looks around at the assembled hundred..
"Right?"
Truthfulness? In leaders? Well, that was an interesting concept... Yes, this was going to be fun to watch, all right. Oheha pulls one of the sweet reed-shoots she had gathered earlier from her pouch, sucks on it thoughtfully. Sea season in a marsh is good, if you know what to look for.
Zenobia, Ash's woman, sidles over, swaying hips, 'come hither' laughing eyes, curvaceous figure. A faint whiff of perfume wafts on the wind.
She drapes a langorous arm over Ash's shoulder, having to reach up to do so. The soft once luxurious leather is long since stained, but her hands are clean.
Ash's harsh features relax almost imperceptibly at the touch. He turns and looks down, meeting her eyes. His gaze is cold, but the suggestion of a crooked smile is back nevertheless.
Ash drops to the ground, squatting on the ground, his sword lying on the platform of his thigh armour. He watches events unfold.
A young swamper gets too close. Ash glares at him, the swamper veers away. Ash growls deep in his throat, apparently satisfied. Zenobia very good at 'discerning the motivations of others' listens to the proceedings while she absent mindedly twirls Ash's wavy hair and warrior braids with her fingers.
Ash appears to go into a meditative state for his eyes are open but unfocussed.
With little warning the big Humakti comes out of his deathly reverie. Coming to his feet, from his restful squatting position, he glances at Zenobia.
She looks up at him, obviously not afraid of his dark stare. Indeed she smirks at him and places a hand on her hip. Her posture shouts, "Yeah, so you're big and mean and scared of nothing - so what?"
Ash laughs, a low rumbling sound coming mostly from his cavernous chest. He then rumples her hair with his meaty paw of a hand. She grins, seemingly not minding in the least.
Ash wanders off in the direction of the marsh...
Ash looks around as he heads further from the unruly rabble behind him. Marsh and scrubland, dull and dreary. Well at least you couldn't laze around all day admiring the scenery.
Ash's mouth twists at that, probably the closest he comes to a smile and not an 'in your face' grin.
Now that he was away from the camp, he began to slouch to present a lower profile, moving quickly but quietly with a loping stride, stopping ever and anon to listen to the moaning of the wind through the reeds.
His eyes, the eyes of a trained scout, scan the countryside for danger, they establish the point where the water is closest to the arguing rabble. He looks for the natural trails an attacker would use as well as possible cache hiding places.
Moving further he spies out the lay of the land, low lying areas, marshy and a surprise in the dark, places to hide and watch. Stony outcrops where fire would not take hold.
After some hours Ash circles back and heads back to the rowdy rabble.
1 Everybody knows that Pentans eat their captives.
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